


How We Survive

by old_sads



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Emotions, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry-centric, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, this is now a Harry's involved in underground boxing AU, written in poetry format
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_sads/pseuds/old_sads
Summary: Sometimes the cases as an Auror are harder to take for Harry's heart than to solve.(Written in poem format, because that's how we roll here.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. the volcano

Sometimes Harry feels  
he is made of earth,  
molten and volcanic.

The cold air cut through his cloak,  
but nothing could beat back  
the heat of his anger,  
curling around his muscles  
like an ash plume in wind. 

The sun could rise and fall  
around him; he would not notice,  
so focused he was on not  
slamming his fist  
into the criminal  
in front of him. 

He repeated to himself,  
_The child was safe.  
The criminal was heading to Azkaban._

What good would it do  
to be cruel now? 

The child stood  
staring at the Aurors.  
She was too thin,  
jaws held tight, the same way  
Harry would at seven  
trying to brave another  
screaming fit thrown at him. 

If he were to explode here,  
would the fall out  
not reach her too? 

There was no family  
left for her; instead,  
she was headed to the home  
Neville and Luna had started.  
She would be safe.  
Her life, at least,  
could be different. 

Only that faith  
stilled his fists.


	2. the ocean

There is a loneliness   
to living like this   
that crashes through him. 

Reports written and filed,   
courts spoken to,   
all the proper procedures followed. 

But what  
does it all do?

There is another  
set of files on his desk.   
They come through   
at the same relentless rhythm   
as storm time waves. 

Harry wishes  
he could get used to this.   
(He doesn't know  
what he'd do if he ever did.) 

He sits, reading the cases,   
feels grief under his skin   
like cold anchors chained   
around his chest. 

The facts become stories,   
accusing him of always   
being too late. 

When the best case scenario is a broken soul  
instead of a dead one, could he really   
say any of this   
was a job well done?

His magic  
could save a life.  
But it could not  
turn back time,   
could not truly  
erase trauma.


	3. the fight

The smell of sweat  
settles heavy, tinged  
with fierce anger.  
A welcome difference  
from the scent of desperation.

Here, he can  
let molten earth  
cleanse him.

Bodies press together,  
jeering, feet pounding.  
The screams crescendo  
as Harry enters the ring. 

There are no wands  
or spells. Only fists  
meeting flesh. 

Magic flows  
through his blood.  
But before Hagrid,  
before Hogwarts,  
he still knew this—  
how to make himself  
small, how to dodge. 

Here, his name  
does not matter.  
He is not  
the boy that survived. 

Here, he is just a body,  
alive with every move,  
and that is enough.


	4. the drought

Hermione finds him  
laying in bed. Had it been   
one day or two? 

The room  
smells of sleep,   
a heavy musk brewed   
into his sheets, his pillows. 

His arms are heavy,   
but still he slips on glasses.

Her hair is wild,  
slipping out of the bun   
she favors these days. 

Slowly, she sits   
cross legged on the floor.   
There are dark circles  
under her eyes, a wrinkle   
creasing her forehead. 

Her voice is soft in the dusk,   
“I’ve read France is nice   
this time of year.”

“Are you tired?   
Do you need a vacation?”  
Harry’s voice is rough, parched   
since waking.

“For you, Harry.”   
Her sigh is heavy.

"Then  
when will you rest?" 

“Soon."


	5. France

When he arrives,  
the air is lit with static—   
clouds thick in the sky. 

For the first time  
in weeks, he can breathe.  
Walking muggle streets   
was a balm after the war. 

Now again, he feels at peace.   
The grey evenness of a cloudy day,  
a crowd where he is unimportant—   
unknown.


	6. the meeting

A soft croissant,   
a strong espresso,   
a pleasant breeze,   
and bright sun. 

But still  
Hermione had been wrong.   
There was a disaster  
dressed in a dark jacket  
two tables over. 

Harry’s heart turned   
into a metal machine,   
viciously pumping  
until his entire body  
pulsed with it. 

For 1920 days   
he had avoided   
those grey eyes.

Draco Maloy’s fingers spasmed.   
His mug crashed. 

Harry couldn’t help but wonder  
did they sit now   
as enemies  
or strangers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally meet Draco.


End file.
